Coat me

I am Living in the Present State of Numbness.

Dunkin' Tears

Thanksgiving is around the corner and Dunkin' would always be the 1st to eat. I always made him his plate of thanksgiving food, with stuffing, gravy and all the trimmings. How he would eat until he was the size of the bird itself, then he would sleep the rest of the day. He deserved my love for many years. I deserved his. I am thankful every moment I breath that the Dunk was in my life and that he will always be part of me.

I also thank karma for in knowing that karma exists, I also know the people who extinguished Dunkin's light are already paying for their deeds. It is not even in my hands. I can only control my state and I do the best I can. I miss you dear boy. Momma misses you at night, and I know you know it. How I miss those long dog legs and that sound you made in gratitude of hugs and smiles. Wish I had you now to help out with my left hand again. It's not looking too happy and it's feeling a bit blue, tingly, and numb sometimes. I fight it, Dunkin'. I do what I know how to and it's just a lot more difficult without you near.

Too Many Tears Have Had To Fall

Phoenix's song "If I Ever Feel Better" pretty much sums me up.



I'm at the point of thinking... IF I ever feel better. I do sometimes. Sometimes.


My hands are lovely, they brush my hair and my teeth, they can thread a needle, they elegantly lift items and wash dishes, they type and allow me to express myself. My hands are milky peach and scarred in my right ring finger, there is a ring on my left middle finger, I adorn my wrist with a Frida Kalho bracelet and I have other scars from art projects, one when I was in the 4th grade carving a stamp, another when I was doing a mural in Arizona, both are on my thumbs. My veins show through my translucent skin and there is some metal inside one of my fingers to it would mend correctly at one point. And now, these lovely hands are weak.

All I can do is rub them, flex them, message them and start feeling better. I wish I could dip them in purple paint and watch it drip down to my elbows. My hands want to be playdough, a bright blue or lively green. They want to be lace, my petite hands, covered in lace and sipping on tea in the middle of Deadwood, South Dakota. My hands want to feel the buttery softness of a child's skin, the warmth of a man's elegant hand on mine, the silky trusses of my hair, the bark of a tree. I am thankful for my hands and thankful that Dunkin' used to know when I needed them licked. Dunkin' used to know. Dunkin' would lick the forhand, exactly where it was weak, or numb. He brought me such hope. They killed my hope in Arizona. No wonder my hands are weak. No wonder my spirit is wounded. No wonder I hope to feel better and be reminded to so spend some good time with you.

There are things in my life I can't control, I feel the chaos around me, a thing I dont try to deny, I better learn to accept that, there's a part of my life that will go away.- Phoenix